


Sursurrus

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/F, Gen, The Future Past Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Your mother was a hero. That... the monster that did this. That monster was <b>not</b> your mother."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>There are consequences, learns Cynthia, of being her mothers' daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sursurrus

**Author's Note:**

> too terrible to claim. enjoy this scrap of fic

Cynthia, too, heard the whispers.

 _Her hair,_ the townsfolk would say, voices hushed as she passed. Unearthly, white-- just like her mother's. _Just like Grima's,_ they would hiss, shuddering in the ruined streets of Ylisstol, too panicked to even clean the debris of buildings, burned: dragons' breath, raining down upon the city, hellfire itself. Grima's world of nightmares come to pass.

 _Her skin,_ they would murmur among themselves, _look at her hands._ The cluster of scales upon her knuckles, her nails, blackened like claws. She would tuck them, then, into the pockets of her skirts. _Do you think her pigtails hide her horns?_   whispered again. And they would give her a wide berth, then, a hundred feet from her 

Cynthia learned, quickly, to wear gloves in public.

It was Morgan, between them, who had fallen first-- he had, perhaps, always been closer to their mother. She'd watched him, her younger brother, how he awoke one morning with the edges of his canines poking from his lips, and laughed about biting his lip at breakfast. How his skin hardened into chitinous scales, starting from the nape of his neck, how he'd torn through his boots one day and discovered that his toenails had become claws. How he woke up some nights, sobbing, in their shared room, as Cynthia shook him awake of a nightmare.

"I'll save you," Cynthia declared, then, determined. Her brow furrowed, "You don't have to worry about it anymore, Morgan... I'll save you! I'll find some way, some how... a hero always finds a way."

"R-really?" Morgan would sniffle. "But... the _whispers_. I can hear them... I can hear Mama calling me to come to her. To... to join her, with Grima. And then, my skin prickles, and I grow more... more of _these_."

And he would hold up his arm, or his leg, or show her his back, and _oh_. Cynthia would choke back a gasp, watch where razor-sharp scale-edges shredded the fabric of his nightwear.

"W-we'll find a way," Cynthia, too, would tremble. "Mamia and me. We'll find a way, even if we have to quest across the world and find it!"

"Okay," and Morgan would smile, beam up at her. "I believe in you... thank you, Cyn."

She had seen, one morning, Morgan's bed-- emtpy, vacant. And she had seen, while helping Lucina defend Ylisstol, the newest officer of the Grimleal ranks. Then, she knew that her promise could not be kept.

And Cynthia, with horror, had watched in the mirror as her own incisors began to lengthen, had watched her nails blacken and watched the scales slowly climb up her knuckles, begin to dot her wrists. And, too, on the rare occasion-- her mother's voice, light and sweet, like a whispered childhood lullaby. Thoughts that were not her own, about how she could have all of this back if she would let Grima into her heart.

But then.

Then came the night Maribelle, Cordelia died, the night where the Avatar of Grima themselves laid siege to Ylisstol, had set aflame the last vestiges of the Church of Naga.

Robin had looked into her eyes, then, smiled as softly as she had in Cynthia's childhood. Horns hooked under pointed ears, scales ran up her neck, down her wrists, and claws-- not too different from Cynthia's own nails, black, pointed-- dug into the binding of her tome. Cynthia's eyes flickered to the cover, half-expecting to see the title of one of the fairytales Mother used to read, and found _Grima's Truth_ instead.

"See for yourself," spoke a voice so very, very like her mother's. Then, a wicked grin, "See for yourself what you have the potential for."

And then, she gestured-- and with one hand, made as if to burn the building to the dirt. Cynthia moved, plunged her lance in the direction of her mother-- no, not her mother, she corrected, _Grima's Avatar_ \-- but that half-second of hesitation made her too late.

Ylisstol burned that night.

"Your mother," Sumia patted her hand gently, as if she knew, too, that Cynthia doubted. Her voice trembled, steeled itself, "Your mother was a hero. That... the monster that did this. That monster was _not_ your mother."

"I know," Cynthia had whispered, trying not to let Mother's voice, Grima's words, ring in her head. Then, with newfound determination, "I'll be a hero, too. I'm going to save everyone... I'm going to protect everyone!"

"Oh, Cynthia..." and Sumia's eyes crinkled at the edges, but so too did they echo of something deeply sad. She gently squeezed her daughter's hand, "Your mother... used to say the same thing."

"Then... then I'll make her proud," Cynthia smiled, then, at last. "I'll make _both_ of you proud! Mom... Mom, teach me how to be a pegasus knight like you. The farther I can go, the more people I can rescue when I fight!"

"N-now?" Sumia looked a little surprised, but too was her daughter's enthusiasm infectious. She ventured a smile back, and though the city still smoldered outside their door, though she had just buried two of her dearest comrades that morn-- "All right. We'll want to start by making you a new lance... your old one's beginning to loosen at the handle. It'll be tough to fight on a pegasus like that!"

"Thanks, mom," and Cynthia's answering beam was worth it. "I'm ready to begin!"

And with the wind, the sound of hoofbeats in her ears-- the whispers, at last, quieted.

 

 

 


End file.
